


Prequel to the Monkey's Paw

by fourshoesfrank



Category: the monkeys paw - w. w. jacobs
Genre: it's definitely not my best work but yknow, this was for a school assignment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourshoesfrank/pseuds/fourshoesfrank
Summary: we read the monkey's paw in my 8th grade english class and our assignment was to either write a prequel about the man who owned it before Sergeant-Major Morris or write a sequel where the son comes back to life. I chose the first option. the guy's name is Hans Chander and he's a funky boy





	Prequel to the Monkey's Paw

    A soldier ran frantically through the thick jungle. He had only half an hour to get back to his post as a sentry before his superiors would become suspicious of his absence. As the lone night sentry of a small outpost town, he had a small role to play, but he was determined to be a good soldier for the British Empire.  
    Hans Chander was a small man, but his quick mind made up for his lack of stature. His dark hair and angular features made it easy for him to blend in with the local Indian people. Hans had been fathered by a local cloth merchant, which explained the resemblance. For this reason, it was often asked of him to spy on locals suspected of rebellion.    
    Hans had abandoned his post to follow an old fakir, and see what he was up to. The fakir had been absent from his home for several nights, and Hans felt that it was his duty to figure out why.  
    The fakir was an old man named Yukta. Hans had observed him slipping away into the forested area surrounding the town night after night, and had finally chosen to investigate what the old man was doing in there.  
    As Hans moved closer to the sound of low voices and a crackling fire, he began to realize what was happening. Yukta was holding a meeting in a nearby clearing with six of his fellow fakirs. This had gone on every night, for months. Right under the Brits’ noses! Hans knew there had to be some spell involved, because how else had they gone undetected for so long?  
    Hans observed Yukta and the others performing a ritual over a shriveled, desiccated thing that resembled a human hand. After moving closer to the gathering, Hans saw that it wasn't a hand, it was a mummified monkey’s paw.  
    Suddenly, the fakirs went quiet. After talking amongst themselves for a moment, one of the men ran towards Hans’s hiding place. Panicked, Hans drew his pistol and fired wildly. The shot missed, and he was dragged into the clearing. One of the fakirs came forward and placed a dagger at Hans’s throat.  
    “What do you want?” the fakir snarled. He dangled the enchanted paw in front of Hans’s face and waited impatiently for an answer.  
    “I–I only wanted to discover what he was doing at night,” Hans said, indicating Yukta with a nod of his head. “I never meant to intrude.”  
   “You will tell no one of this,” ordered the fakir holding the knife.  
   “Will you tell your British king?” another fakir spat as the seven of them circled around Hans. “Will you tell anyone?”  
    “No, I swear it! I'll tell no one!”  
    “He's lying,” Yukta said softly. “I say we kill him.”  
    “Please, don't kill me! I won't tell, I mean it this time!”  
    The fakirs conversed quietly for a time, shooting suspicious glances at Hans every once in awhile. Hans waited nervously, rubbing his neck where the dagger had been. He could still feel the cold iron on his skin, although the weapon was back on a fakir’s belt. Finally, he could stand it no longer and asked if they had made a decision yet.  
    A short fakir wearing a faded blue coat shook his head. “Wait a moment,” he said.  
    “Masud, do not tell him anything,” Yukta ordered. The fakirs continued talking amongst themselves.  
    Hans waited another minute, but his time was running out. He asked again. This time, the fakirs had an answer.  
   Masud came forward and offered Hans the monkey’s paw. He said, “If you will agree not to tell anyone of what you have seen tonight, we will give you this charm. It will grant three men each three wishes. Do you accept?”  
    Hans nodded shakily. “I accept,” he agreed.  
   Masud warned the soldier, “Think long and hard before you wish, for these wishes cannot be undone and the paw is quite mischievous.” He held out the paw and Hans took it from the fakir’s hand. It felt cold, and it tingled in the soldier’s palm. He quickly placed it in his pocket.  
    “Thank you,” Hans said sincerely. “I swear I will tell no one.”  
    He ran back to his post with the paw stowed safely away. He reached the gate just as the sun rose over the horizon. After a brief scan of the area, the soldier breathed a sigh of relief. No one had caught wind of his little excursion.  
    Hans stood at his sentry post for the remainder of the morning, and after another man took up his position Hans hurried to the barracks.  
   His bunk was in the far corner of the room, so he was confident that he would not be disturbed if he examined the monkey’s paw more closely. Hans took the talisman out of his pocket and looked at it closely. While he was preoccupied with the paw, his bunkmate, Sergeant-Major Morris, came into the room.  
    “Chander? What are you doing?” Morris inquired. As he got closer to the sentry, Morris stopped in his tracks. He could see the paw clearly now.  
    “What in God’s name is that?” the Sergeant-Major whispered. Hans held it up, inviting Morris to take a closer look.  
    “It was given to me by Yukta, the old fakir.” This sentence was true. The next was a lie, told to save himself and the fakirs from punishment by his superiors. “He gave it to me as a gift, in return for saving his niece from falling into the river.”  
    “Well, Chander, you're a good man, and a good soldier. I see no reason why I should confiscate this...monkey’s paw. Keep it, but please, for both our sakes, don't take it out in public.”  
    Having said this, Morris began climbing up to his bunk. It had been a long night, and he intended to sleep for a good long while.  
    Hans suddenly exclaimed, “Morris! I haven't told you the most interesting detail!”  
    Morris looked down with a tired frown. “You can tell me later. I'm going to sleep.”  
    Hans nodded slightly. “Of course. Pleasant dreams, Sergeant-Major.”  
    Hans quietly left the barracks and walked through the village, wondering what to wish for with this paw. He came to the conclusion that he couldn't possibly make such a decision on his own, so he went to the village’s only tavern to get suggestions.  
    Many soldiers thought that drinking in a local tavern was beneath them, so they either drank in the barracks or traveled to the ports to drink in British taverns. Hans was of the opinion that a tavern was a tavern, simple as that. This village’s tavern was called Samdur.  
   Hans entered and walked over to where two of his fellow soldiers sat, playing cards. He dropped the monkey’s paw on their table and waited for their reactions.  
    Desmond, a tall infantryman, jumped up from his seat and sneered, “Chander, are you crazy? What is that?”  
    The other card player, a muscular medic named Thomas, asked Hans, “Where did you get that? What is it for?”  
    Desmond remarked, “It looks like some sort of bewitched hand.”  
    “Well, not exactly. It is an enchanted monkey’s paw. It has the power to grant three wishes to three separate men,” Hans explained. “It was given to me by the old fakir, Yukta.”  
   Thomas reached a hand out, as if to touch it. He hesitated.  
    “Is it harmful?” he asked, staring wide-eyed at the talisman. One could practically hear him thinking of what to wish for. Hans shook his head.  
    “Go on, touch it,” he implored. He dropped the paw into the medic’s outstretched hand. “It can't hurt you.”  
    Desmond shook his head slowly, in disbelief or disappointment, Hans couldn't tell. “You two don't actually believe this, do you? It's all ghost stories and smoke. You can't trust a fakir, Chander. I thought you knew better.” With that, the tall man threw down his cards and walked out of the tavern.  
    Thomas apologized for his friend’s words when Desmond was out of earshot. Hans and Thomas began talking animatedly of what to wish for. All of their ideas seemed frivolous or pointless, or both.  
    While the two soldiers were focused on the paw, a waitress named Dipti walked past their table and told them, “If I had that paw, I would wish every single British soldier out of my country forever.” Thomas tried to speak to her, but she ignored anything he said.  
    Hans was still deep in thought, but something had occurred to him.  
    “Thomas, I know what I'm going to wish for,” he announced proudly. Thomas clapped his hands excitedly, and the two men walked out of the bar and back to the barracks to make the wish.  
    “Hans, what are you wishing for?” the medic asked, once they reached the common room of the large building.  
    Hans smiled knowingly. “You shall know when I say it aloud.”  
    Having explained all that he felt was needed, Hans held the talisman aloft in his right hand and said, “I wish to be discharged of my duties in India.”  
    He waited with bated breath for something to change, but every detail remained as it had been before he made his wish. Thomas opened his mouth to say something to Hans, but he closed it before any of his words came out.  
    Several minutes passed by. Hans could stand the suspense no longer, and he said to Thomas, “Perhaps Desmond was right. Maybe the fakirs were lying to me.”  
    Thomas shrugged hopefully. “You could simply request a dismissal,” he suggested.  
    “I've tried that,” Hans sighed, “but I was denied one.”  
    The two men left for their posts. As Hans was walking through the town towards the gate, he felt a cold tingle on the back of his neck. He took up his post and waited for anything to do.  
    Hans’s mind wandered. He thought about the monkey’s paw, and how it had turned out to be a sham. He thought of what awaited him in England when he returned.  
    Lost in his thoughts, the soldier didn't notice the snake creeping up on him. It only attracted his attention when it viciously bit him in the leg. Long fangs sunk into his flesh and released their venom. Hans cried out as he felt the sharp pain on his leg, thinking he had been shot with a dart gun or some other weapon.  
    Some of his fellow sentries brought him to the infirmary. Thomas, his friend, rushed to meet them.  
    “What happened?” the short man asked the men carrying Hans. “Was he shot?”  
    “Snakebite,” a blond-haired man answered. Thomas gasped and hurried to get Hans to a bed.  
    “Bring me the paw,” the sentry said to Thomas. “It's in my coat pocket.”  
    Thomas did as he was asked. “But what are you going to wish for?” he asked once he had brought it.  
    “You will see.”  
    Hans took the talisman in his right hand. Taking a deep breath in, he said loudly, “I wish to be rid of this infection.”  
    The next few days passed in a blur for Hans. He only knew the bright lights of the infirmary and the burning pain in his leg. On the fourth day, Thomas gave him some terrible news.  
    “Hans,” he began, “your leg is in very bad shape.”  
    Hans laughed weakly. “You don't say.”  
    “Hans, this is serious. The surgeon has told me that we will have to amputate your leg at the upper thigh.”  
    The sentry shook his head, disbelief written in his face. “No,” he said. “No, there has to be a mistake. It's just a snakebite, I can heal from this,” Hans insisted.  
    Thomas shook his head and added, “You will be sent back to England when you have recovered from the operation.”  
    Hans remembered what he had wished for on the paw. Then, he remembered Yukta’s warning about the nature of the paw. He had called it ‘mischievous’, but a better word would have been ‘malicious’, in Hans’s opinion.  
    Hans did not want to face life without a leg. A handicapped man could hold no jobs worth doing, lead no life worth leading.  
    If it weren't for that cursed monkey’s paw… he thought to himself. But he couldn't finish the sentence. What's done was done. Hans would have to face the consequences.  
    For the last time, he asked Thomas, “Will you bring me the monkey’s paw?”  
    Thomas shook his head, insisting that he would not. “I gave it to Sergeant-Major Morris,” he lied.  
    “Then get Morris in here!”  
    Thomas reluctantly did as he was told. Minutes later, Hans’s bunkmate was standing next to his hospital bed, holding the paw.  
    “Not here,” Hans said, as firmly as he could manage. “I will not die in a hospital.”  
    Together, Thomas and Morris brought Hans to their barracks. The walk over was excruciatingly painful for Hans, as every other step he landed on his injured leg. After much stumbling and help from the other two men, he was back in his old bunkroom.  
    Hans waited until the medic left them alone, then took the paw from Morris’s hand.  
    Morris looked on a his fellow soldier raised the paw up with a shaking hand. He knew it was not his place to interfere.  
    “I wish for death,” Hans uttered.

**Author's Note:**

> leave me some feedback you forgetful hobgoblins


End file.
